


Oswald

by Esperata



Series: Arkham Correspondence [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blackgate Penitentiary, Comfort Food, Daydreaming, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperata/pseuds/Esperata
Summary: Oswald is resigned to his stay in Blackgate but that doesn't mean he can't imagine how things might have been different.





	Oswald

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I am indebted to Ioe for allowing me to utilise these ideas in my work.

Oswald wasn’t expecting a letter from Edward that day. While their frequency was sporadic they never arrived more than once a week, for the simple reason that Arkham policy only allowed patients one sheet of writing paper per week. What they thought the inmates would do with them Oswald had no idea but if anyone could construct an escape from paper it would be the Riddler.

Occasionally he’d had to wait several weeks for any word from Ed. The man’s letters were random and disjointed. They were entirely composed of thoughts that occurred to him and were briskly jotted down or rants about people or events – either past or current – that spilled out of his wandering mind. If Ed was in a mood too then he would continue one letter over several pages before sending it, seemingly able to pick up a train of thought from days previously with ease.

While Oswald lamented the mental duress always apparent through the ramblings, and secretly longed for more tender words, he nevertheless treasured every one he received. Each letter showed that Ed still considered him a friend. The fact he shared his thoughts so willingly with Oswald was enough to soothe the continual ache the man had left in his heart from cruel words spoken before blood shed so long ago.

In between times he had to find other ways to ease the loneliness he felt. Today that involved a gingerbread man.

Establishing himself in Blackgate as the person to deal with had not been difficult. Unlike when he was incarcerated in Arkham, he was practically a celebrity now. Everyone knew his name and all the inmates also knew his reach in the underworld. Being in prison actually didn’t hinder his ability to pull strings via the careful collection and insinuation of intelligence. If anything it improved his network.

So the other prisoners had quickly leant ways to curry favour. Most of them didn’t have any connections or information to trade but all of them could pass on their allocated treats. So when relatives would innocently bring their loved ones delicacies from the outside, a large proportion of them ended up filling Oswald’s belly.

It was a far cry from his time in Arkham when a special dessert often meant an experiment and a new form of torment. He didn’t like to remember his time there. It still gave him nightmares which was why he’d insisted his lawyer plea for him to be tried as sane. He would never go back there if he could help it.

The thought of Ed being there twisted his guts, despite knowing it was not the monster factory it once was, but Ed couldn’t even convince himself he was sane half the time. Oswald hoped his letters helped and in the meantime he concocted his own fantasies so as not to worry himself to death over his beloved friend.

Which was where the gingerbread treat came in. It was an especially good indulgence for his purposes and he smiled to himself as he began his habitual daydream.

In his mind he imagined they were back living together as they once had in his father’s home. Occasionally he varied this by recalling those carefree days before that in Ed’s apartment but today he preferred to imagine the larger kitchen space of the mansion.

He was sitting up at the counter watching as Edward busied himself measuring ingredients and commenting on how baking was basically chemistry. It was something he’d told Oswald once when he’d quite casually presented him with an intricately patterned cupcake. A part of him wished he’d been able to keep it but then he’d never have experienced the delicious pleasure of sugary sweetness that even now made his mouth water.

If only Olga hadn’t defended the kitchen so territorially perhaps Oswald would have more memories of such treats to indulge in. Fortunately in his mind he could recreate those months and allow Ed full reign of the kitchen.

He smiled to himself as he thought of the man bustling about, mixing ingredients, rolling them out, cutting shapes, but Oswald didn’t focus on any of that minutiae. Instead he thought about Ed’s face. How he would have that contented look he got when he was being productive. The idea that Ed might have such a look over cooking for him made his stomach flutter with butterflies.

Yet it was the continual chatter that Oswald longed to hear. Edward enjoyed having someone to talk to – someone who would actually listen to him – and Oswald would be a most willing listener. It was easy enough to pepper his vision with comments Ed had thrown at him over the years. Some he’d not appreciated at the time; “Did you know that male Emperor Penguins keep their eggs warm by balancing them on their feet?” But now they gave him a warm feeling of familiarity.

The culmination of his daydream though always involved the same scene. Edward would lay out his culinary efforts before Oswald, neatly presented on a plate just as this gingerbread man was, and then lean forward to look him in the eye.

“I can’t be bought but I can be stolen with one glance. Worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?”

Oswald’s heart would ache at the memory of those words and for a second he’d wish things differently. He’d wish he’d never confessed, never killed Isabella. Or that he’d said something sooner and maybe then have the memory of Edwards kisses to add to his fantasy.

As it was he’d simply drop his gaze to the plate in his lap and murmur the answer; “Love” before finally picking up the confection and biting into it.

He groaned aloud as the taste hit his tongue. This was no shop bought biscuit. This was home made with fresh ingredients and he was swept up into his fantasy, eyes drifting shut in delight.

“Oh Ed,” he mumbled round a mouthful of gingerbread before hastily taking another bite.

A part of him knew he should savour the treat, perhaps even save some for later but there was little chance of that happening. Besides, there was always a steady stream of people ready to share their spoils just to keep him friendly. He had no need to hold back. And if he happened to put on a few pounds, well, who was there to care?

“Cobblepot.” The voice at his cell door shocked him back to reality and he glared in irritation. This was his private time, while all the other prisoners took part in their mandatory exercise sessions. It was the first time he’d ever been grateful for his improperly healed broken leg.

“What?” he snapped, holding onto his snack tighter in case the guard tried to take it. His fantasy might be ruined but at least he still had the food.

“Letter for you.”

Oswald blinked in surprise as the envelope was flicked into the cell. He didn’t recognise the writing but the stationary and postal stamp were immediately identifiable. A surge of panic rose in him. Why would Arkham be writing to him unless it was about Edward? Had something happened? Were they going to inform him of an attack? Or worse?

Dropping the gingerbread back onto the plate he dropped down to grab at the letter. He wasted no time in tearing it open and scanning the page. His heart eased its frantic beating as he saw that the hand inside was at least Ed’s. More curious now than alarmed he sat back on the cot and focused his eyes at the start.

He let out a sigh of relief at the first line. It was a part of his therapy. That explained why the envelope was not personally addressed by him. A frown marred his brow as he mentally berated the asylum for sending out a letter written in private. Although… his heart stuttered… perhaps Ed had asked it to be sent?

Oswald shook his speculation away and settled down to read the letter, pleased either way to be hearing from Edward again when he hadn’t expected to.

A smile grew on his face at the coherence of the missive. This was his Ed – focused on an activity – calm and collected. The smile only grew as Ed admitted to their continued friendship. It was something that he hoped was true from their prior correspondence but it was undoubtedly reassuring to read it from Ed’s perspective.

He found himself blinking in surprise at the next confessions, unsure whether to feel horror or pleasure. Ed had taken drugs? To see him? That was unexpected.

His soft smile returned however as the writing moved onto familiar feelings. Familiar to Oswald at least. He had little expectation that Ed would echo those thoughts and his heart thudded harder in his chest at the realisation.

Then it stopped beating altogether. His lungs froze and all he could do was stare at the only word on the page that would come into focus for him: love.

For several seconds he stared helplessly and then his body kicked back into gear. His breath rushed out in a rush, his heart beat double time as if to catch up and his eyes began racing over the subsequent words, looking for the joke or dismissal. None came. Laughter bubbled out of him and he backtracked to read the words through again, still scarcely taking them in.

Once he’d read it over three times, and confirmed it wasn’t a lie, he pressed fierce kisses to the paper and clutched it tight to his breast as if it was his most precious possession. Because it was. Ed _loved_ him. _Ed_ loved him. Ed loved _him_.

He cast his gaze back hastily in case he’d mistaken the name on the page. No. There at the top was his own name. _Dear Oswald_. He laughed again and tears broke free from his eyes. It was another minute before he had himself under control enough to reread the last sentence.

_Have pity on me. Say you’ll think of me. Say it’s not hopeless._

A reply! Ed wanted a reply. Oswald needed to reassure him that it wasn’t hopeless. That his feelings were not one-sided.

Awkwardly he dragged himself from his cot and staggered over to the little desk. Scrambling in a drawer revealed he still had a sheet of paper left and he quickly laid it out. He’d need to get more soon. A lot more if he was going to fully express his feelings to Edward. But for now speed was of greater importance. He could not have his beloved go through a moment’s more anxiety than necessary.

The half-eaten gingerbread man lay temporarily forgotten as Oswald began his own letter; _Dearest darling Edward_.


End file.
